But after a time her fears lessened. Surely the youth would not keep coming all this while, or if he did, she had only to tell her father. Nikander would punish him thoroughly. Yes, and perhaps his daughter also for being at the window at all. Oh, but the youth must have forgotten. Why need she be anxious? The evening was very hot. The air seemed to press down heavily into the amphitheatre of the mountains. One could hardly breathe. Theria found her window. Darkness had fully come and the hoped-for breeze. She had sat there some moments before she realized that the Argive youth was in the lane below. She shrank back, but his first word startled her into speech. “Lady Eleutheria, I have asked your father for your hand,” he said. “But oh, dear maid, he tells me that you are betrothed.” “I am not betrothed! I am not betrothed!” she cried vehemently. “There has been no betrothal.” “Thank the good gods for that,” was the devout answer. Foolishly she began to argue. “But that does you no good.” “No, but at least it does not snatch you quite away. I have learned to hope, Eleutheria. When I was in the galley-hold all day rowing until my back cracked, then it seemed as though I could never be glad again. But I am glad; thanks to you. In the same way I shall hope that some glorious fate will bring you to me, though so far from me now. I shall make you love me.” “But I do not love you,” said Theria desperately, “and you must not come here any more. This window is my solitude. You shall not come to it.” “Do not say that,” he pleaded. “You cannot imagine the joy it is to come. I have worn a path on the hillside coming, coming to you. And as I come my heart lifts and lifts as with a dawning light. Ah, you do not understand it; nor did I, dear child. It is something stronger than I—than you—— Each morning,” he hurried on, fearful lest she leave him, “when I awake and remember that I am free, then your cry comes back to me that you are shut in always, always, without hope. My heart breaks. I, too, had been shut in without hope. Therefore, I long to free you.” “You compare me to a slave,” she said sternly. “No, no,” he cried. “If I could only take your hand and show you the beautiful temples of the gods, the cities which I know, the sea. Lady, have you ever seen the sea?” “No,” she answered, very low. “Once I had a friend. He was taken prisoner with me on the pirate ship. But he died of the wounds he got shielding me—and I still love him. I thought I could never love any one in all my life as I love him; but you, dear maid, you are more than that friend. It is strange to say that. But you are my friend and my life. I am no longer my own.” His voice changed with awe. “Dear lady, it is not Aphrodite’s passion that is come upon me, it is the gift of some god loftier than she—perhaps Eros the Creator. Try to understand.”